


man's worst urges can be satisfied through depression

by chillydown



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Collins ain't doing so hot, Gen, Gun Violence, Mental Health Issues, pov fic, the tiniest bit of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillydown/pseuds/chillydown
Summary: Henry Collins knew he wasn't well.based on the terror-exe tweet: https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1296374399692607489
Kudos: 5
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	man's worst urges can be satisfied through depression

Henry Collins knew he wasn’t well. 

But the odd thing was, nobody else seemed to realize it. It seemed obvious to him. He felt like any moment, someone would look at him, frown, and murmur behind their backs about how unwell he was. How he was different in a way that they couldn’t put their finger on. But nobody ever did.

Goodsir would listen, thank God, but nobody else seemed to even notice. They smiled and chatted and talked to him as if he still existed, as if he was not something _new_ that woke up each morning and pretended to be Henry Collins. Dr. Stanley had prescribed work, as if he wasn’t working enough already, and fun. The Carnivale. The thing that was keeping the rest of the crew of HMS Erebus going but the thing that Collins barely seemed to care about. It was there. It would happen. They would get dressed and go on the ice and drink and be so happy to see the sun despite the fact that Collins knew, deep within his heart, that the sun did not matter. Why did it matter that the sun was up? They were still here. They were still alone.

His thoughts were growing worse as time went on. One night, he was on deck, holding a rifle. He didn’t know why. Well, he knew why but he didn’t know _why_. They still had men out on watch, keeping an eye out for that spirit, the thing that killed Lieutenant Gore. They hadn’t seen that bear for weeks now. But there he was, standing on deck, staring out into _nothing_. There was nothing here.

Why was he even here? What was he doing?

Captain Fitzjames came on deck for idle talk. The captain was all smiles, grinning as he looked out over the horizon, talking about how Mister Teeth-And-Claws wouldn’t bother them now. All Collins could think about was what would happen if he stepped back, pulled the trigger, and fired. Fitzjames’s blood and brains would be splattered on the ship’s deck. If he aimed it right, Fitzjames wouldn’t feel a thing. The bullet would pierce right through his brain, killing him instantly. Some brain matter and skull fragments would be splattered on the deck, but it wouldn’t be a problem. He could clean it up. There might be a little bit of gasping, of struggling for air, but it wouldn’t last for long. He wouldn’t be like that corpse they still pretended was a man, that thing that breathed but didn’t live, that thing in the sickbay that Tozer doted on and pretended could feel, that thing that reminded Collins far too much of himself. If he aimed it right, Fitzjames would just die. He wouldn’t suffer. And Collins could spare the captain the eventual suffering he knew they would all feel. He could watch Fitzjames die, looking into his eyes, desperately searching for that validation of what he knew was the truth.

They were alone. They would die alone. There was _nothing here_. 

Was it something only a dead man could see? Possibly not: Collins himself was not a dead man. And yet, he could see it. Down in the diving bell, lurking in the deep, pressed in on all sides by a cloth and metal coffin, floating in the expanse of nothingness, seeing a fellow dead man in the water float towards him. That was the closest to death any live man could ever get. Was that why he knew they were alone? Was that why he knew there was nothing here? And would he see it in Fitzjames’s eyes if he watched him die?

He felt his finger on the trigger. All he had to do was squeeze. And then he realized what he was thinking and almost dropped his rifle in sheer terror.

If Captain Fitzjames saw anything, he said nothing. Fitzjames smiled and clapped him on the shoulder and went back below decks and Collins felt his heart shrink in fear and horror and pure loathing. He was a sailor. An officer. To even think of killing one’s captain would be...well, it was beyond the pale. He was an _officer_. He should not be thinking like this. And it horrified him that he did.

As he fell asleep that night, Collins counted all the ways he knew things were wrong as a child counts sheep. He knew he was not well. But the thought of being unwell enough to possibly murder the captain terrified him most of all.

The Carnivale would be good. The fun would push these thoughts from his mind. It was needed. He would be fine. He would not think things like this anymore and he would be like he used to be, like he was at the start of the expedition, before everything went so wrong. He would be better. He would finally feel like himself again. He would be fine.

He hoped. He pleaded. Collins knew he had to be fine. He did not want to think about what he would do if he was wrong.

Although if he was honest with himself, he did not want to think at all.


End file.
